GILLIGAN'S ISLAND
by bob.weis
Summary: Reflections of the Professor as the castaways meet years later and share memories of their common history.


Cosmos Club

Washington, DC

1979

Rain poured down as I rounded Dupont Circle. The valet opened the taxi door, and I stepped out and entered the club's formal entrance on Massachusetts Avenue. The check in host took one look at me and figured I was in the wrong place.

"Can I help you, sir?"

I guessed the khakis did not work for a members club of the Washington elite.

"Roy Hinkley, the reunion."

"Right this way sir."

She led me down a long hall of black and white portraits, each of them a great scientist, poet, politician, or otherwise major contributor to American history or culture. I gave a nod to Albert Einstein, rounded the corner and headed to the bar to wait for the festivities to begin.

The bartender made a pretty good virgin Mai Tai. The glass had a nice Tiki God inscribed on it, and the little umbrella was a rich shade of florescent purple. I took a slow sip. There was good effervescence with the soda I had him exchange for rum. The bartender gave me a curious look.

"You part of the castaway's group? Is it true, were they really on their own that long?"

I set down the glass and motioned for him to come a little closer.

"Just sit right back" I said, " and I'll tell you a tale".

"Professor...Roy you dog!"

Some loud mouth was motioning to me from across the dark bar.

"Jonas!" I met him midway across the room. He put his huge arms around me and gave me a big manly hug.

"Captain, you look fantastic my friend," I said though I knew _he_ knew I was lying. I only knew Jonas Grumbly as a big man, strong as an ox, with a deep leathery tan.

"I look like crap Roy, but you do too!" He looked frail and thin, but inside I could see the old wily captain was still there. "Grab your drink and come see my picture."

The last place I would ever expect to see Jonas Grumbly was the Cosmos Club. Not exactly someone you expect to find between Woodrow Wilson and Henry Kissinger, or sandwiched between Thomas Edison and Henry Ford. Then again if anyone was deserving of being honored as a great American-well it might be hard to find a better candidate.

Indeed there was Jonas Grumbly, formally posed, in large format black and white. I assumed the photo had been taken a while ago-he still had some weight on him, and more of his ocean-going tan. Instead of his trademark faded golf shirt he was in Navy whites, complete with his captains cap.

"Got me right between Dorie Miller and Arleigh Burke!" It would never occur to Jonas to consider himself in the same league as a hero of Pearl Harbor or "31 knot Burke" who led so many torpedo attacks against the Japanese. But Jonas was indeed in their league-and a leader among them.

He was finally getting recognition, not as a captain of a wrecked pleasure ship but as a hero of Guadalcanal. In 1942 it was then Petty Officer Grumbly, who under constant strafing by enemy machine guns on the island, and at great risk of his life, daringly led several evacuation boats toward the shore. As he closed on the beach, he signaled the others to land, and then in order to draw the enemy's fire and protect the heavily loaded boats, he valiantly positioned his craft as a shield between the beachhead and the Japanese.

"Its a fitting recognition, Captain". I reached out and gave the brass plaque a quick polish with my khaki sleeve.

" A bunch of bunk!" The Captain had finished his drink and took my arm, steering me back toward the bar. There was some commotion from the front. The hostess seemed to be getting dressed down by an unhappy visitor. I walked up to the front just in time to have a woman thrust her overcoat in my face, thinking I was the valet. She turned to face me, and I realized it was Eunice Wentworth Howell.

"And please try not to crease it young man!". She flew into the room like a blast of wind, and suddenly turned back toward me.

"Roy?"

"E!" She gave me a hug. Then she looked around the room, made sure no one was looking, and gave me a quick but soft kiss on the lips.

"Hello darling."

I backed off to a polite distance.

"Hello Mrs. Howell, such a pleasure to see you."

Eunice Howell had the distinction of being married to a billionaire, and widowed to a millionaire. I first met the couple the afternoon of September 26, 1964. It was on the docks of the Blue Water Fishing Port, Port Moresby in the Solomon Islands. I remember thinking that Eunice was a sweet, attractive, and classy lady, but I did not think much of her rich overbearing husband. Anyway how much can anyone annoy you in just a three-hour tour?

Howell had inherited a lot of money, but he had made a lot too. He found it difficult to be rich, and had he not enjoyed money so much he would have preferred to be poor. A good deal of his money had been made offshore, where he felt comfortable being under-regulated and unnoticed, and as much as possible un-taxed.

The post-war Solomon Islands had made a major effort to market its natural supply of coconut oil. Howell was not the fishing, yachting or sunburn type, so I figured he was looking around the islands for a coconut plantation he could buy and exploit, or at least squeeze the life out of it as much as possible.

An argument broke out almost immediately that day, before we even boarded, between Howell and a sassy but quite cute passenger who was a Peace Corp volunteer.

"Professor!" Dr. Hinkley!

The bar lit up because Mary Ann Summers had just arrived. I gave her a strong hug. She was a bit older but still had that fresh, Kansas farm-raised body. She had cut her hair short, and had a bit more of an earth-mother look. More batik, less gingham.

"Oh how I have missed you Professor!"

Why do those girls in high school and college who never noticed you always say they missed you so much when the reunion comes around?

"I mean I _really_ missed you Roy!"

Had Mary Ann stayed on the farm she might be a very different person. She had an attractive sophistication, that made her farm upbringing all the more sexy and alluring. I know the Peace Corps training was eye-opening, and a decade on a remote island can certainly season you.

A capitalist-pig was what young Mary Ann she called Thurston Howell lll on the dock that day, out to exploit a peaceful and self-sufficient culture. Eunice had appeared never to forgive Mary Ann for her comment, but privately, I knew she loved it. I assume Eunice might even have used it on Thurston herself a few times. I still wonder if Mary Ann would have said that on the dock if she knew this would be anything more than a three-hour tour. Can we ever predict how long we might end up staying with someone we just met, insulted in a store, or cut off on the freeway? I guess you never know if you might get trapped in an elevator, or on a tropical island for that matter.

"Dinner is served."

We all looked around, except for a gaggle of Jonas's friends from his Navy years, the castaways turn out was a little light. We started to head up the stairs to the private dining room.

Outside, a few cars honked, and some shouting and chanting could be heard. I saw the hostess up front step back as a couple of Cosmos security guys threw the doors open and rushed outside to get control of the driveway. Flash bulbs were going off.

I shook my head. Few people can cause a commotion like Ginger Grant.

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
